Fires of Firenze
by RedInkRevolution
Summary: I began writing this for a friend and decided to upload it here as well. A/U, The question of "What if?" remains when it comes to Gabriella and Rodolfo Greco. What if things had gone very, very differently upon Gabi's first few days in the past?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything of the River of Times Series; they belong to Lisa Bergren. However, because of her, my imagination has been allowed to dream, birthing this random "What if?" story. A/U in nature, I've originally begun writing this for a friend after finishing Deluge. It's purely for fun. :) Enjoy!

***Gabriella***

Lord Rodolfo Greco (I think of him more fondly as "Lord Look-But-Don't-Touch-McHotpants") has decided to bless me with his intimidating presence, even after Marcello's firm 'suggestion' that he return to, and stay, in his own quarters for the remainder of the night. Rodolfo is the sort of man I would not have had the audacity to approach back home. He seems to absorb information like a sponge, taking in the whole of his surroundings with acute sensitivity. The moment we met, as his hand held my own to his lips and our eyes locked, I knew I was done for. If ever there was a man who mastered the art of reading people as if they were books, my money would be on this guy. He is clever and cautious, amiable and sophisticated, and did I mention completely gorgeous? His hair alone is swoon-worthy, wild like his eyes….oh, have mercy, those _eyes_…

I need to pull myself together before he reads any of _that_ from my expression.

Marcello will not speak to me of the man's business here at Castello Forelli, and it's right that he shouldn't; after all, who am I to them but some under-dressed (possibly bewitched) tomb-walker from Normandy? I now know how Alice must have felt upon entering Wonderland, having fallen down a hole in time itself and waking up in Italy seven hundred years prior to my existence. If only Lia were here; then perhaps I could summon the courage to laugh at our bizarre situation.

"Lady Betarrini, did you not hear me?" Lord Greco intrudes, and I look up at him with partial annoyance; I was rather enjoying my internal monologue. He's lucky that his voice reminds me of ice cream, smooth and sweet with a bit of chill. What I wouldn't give for some Rocky Road right now. Am I PMSing? Oh, I hope not; what do they even do for that here? Please, God, don't let me have to find that out the hard way...

Oh no. He's still looking at me to respond. "Forgive me," I reply, shaking my head to clear it. Funny how we treat our minds like an Etch-a-Sketch. "Lord Greco, this is hardly appropriate."

He smiles, closing the door tight behind him. "Hardly, though I vow to beg your forgiveness once we are through. There is a matter of some urgency that has captivated my thoughts this evening, and only you can put them to rest." He walks towards the wall across the room as if admiring the tapestry that hung there (one of the many tapestries Castello Forelli has displayed upon their walls, I've noticed). I follow him, keeping an eye on the door and taking a seat in a chair next to the fireplace. I bite my cheek without thinking about it, feeling my breath come a bit faster. What could he possibly want to talk to me about that can't wait until morning, or that he would risk angering his good friend over? "Marcello seems to believe this story about your origins, the long-lost sister you speak of, even as to why you climbed out of a tomb onto a battlefield," he starts, turning to face me and crossing his arms. I can feel my face flush red under his intense gaze, despite my best efforts to seem nonchalant. He pulls out a piece of clothing from underneath his own tunic, and I freeze; it's the tank top I had been wearing when I first arrived. Where had he even found that? "I, however, find myself struggling a bit more with the details. I found this near the tomb's entrance on my way here after my men departed."

I swallow, trying to think of a good explanation for what he's holding out to me, yet unable to think of anything but the truth. Would he think me a witch? Sure, I could be moody, but that was as close as I ever came to one. "Lord Greco," I say quietly, though my voice falters.

"Lady Gabriella," he replies, his eyes searching my own, sifting through them as if one look might help him decipher all he wishes to know. "Where are you really from?"

Taking a deep breath, I approach him closely, taking my shirt from him and holding it to my chest. "Lord Greco," I say once more, meeting his eyes and unable to help a pathetic smile. Maybe I could charm him into not burning me at the stake. I need to find Lia, and while the Forellis have promised to help me in my endeavor, this man with his red and gold tunic, sharp gaze, and muscular frame might have a better shot at doing so. Maybe it was worth the risk to trust him. "Can you keep a secret, even if it seems completely ridiculous?"

His eyebrow raises as he rests his elbow on the mantle above the fireplace, leaning into it. "I'm rather fond of keeping secrets, Milady," he replies softly. While serious about getting the truth from me, I see a part of him respond to my words in a way I am still very unaccustomed to: with longing. It reminds me how fragile the ground is that I am treading on; I can see it in his eyes, a hunger for something I do not pretend to understand fully. It's then I realize he might be just the right person to come clean to...maybe the desire I'm sensing from him is a desire to trust me.

"All right, then," I say with a note of finality, folding the tank top before setting it on a table beside us. I spill everything that has happened so far, with Lia and our exploration of the tomb, the handprints and their unexpected warmth, the travel through time, and Lia's unexplained absence upon my waking. By the time I am finished recounting my tale, the look on Lord Greco's face is one of disbelief, fascination, and disappointment. Still very exposed and vulnerable from having shared the truth, I feel more offended at his demeanor than I normally would."You think I'm making this up."

"No, no," he responds quickly, though the sarcasm in his voice says otherwise. "Not at all. It's actually quite common for people to meander through time using nothing but painted walls," he replies; the hand that was resting on the mantle is now clenched into a fist.

"You mock me," I sigh, shaking my head and picking up the tank top once more. "Why else would I have emerged from a tomb wearing this? Look into my eyes and read the truth there for yourself. I know I'm asking a lot of you to believe such a thing, but I swear that I am not making this up." Suddenly, I have a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach; if he doesn't believe me, I don't think anybody ever will. Lia could be lost forever.

Taking me by surprise, he reaches to grasp my shoulders in his hands, almost tenderly, as his gaze bores into my own. Never before have I felt so attracted to a man I shouldn't…especially now, listening to the crackling embers of the fire, eyes locked, only a breath away from something more.

After what feels like an eternity, he drops his hands from where they were with a brief nod. I already miss their absence. "Very well," he says quietly, gently prying the shirt from my hands. "If I am to believe you, then this must go." He walks over to the fire, tossing it in and watching the flames slowly turn the threads to ash. Once he's satisfied, he turns back to me. "You will return with me to Firenze; from there, I will do everything in my power to find your sister. Surely, we must, before anyone else finds her in such a fragile state."

Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes! Isn't that what Jane Bennett had said to Mr. Bingley? "Thank you," I reply, relieved that he actually believes me. "When do we leave?"

"On the morrow," he replies, calculating. "I'll convince Marcello that I may have a lead as to where your sister is, and that you're safety depends on returning with me. He will not be happy that I am taking you, but I am positive his betrothed shall do her best to take his mind off of our abrupt exodus; it amuses me how threatened she becomes the moment you enter a room." He chuckles, a smirk gracing his lips as my cheeks flush red. Seeming to forget his place for a moment, he reaches forward to brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "Though it doesn't surprise me for a second."

For once, I don't have a smart comeback. Is this what this guy is going to do to me every time we talk? Take away my words and turn my thoughts to mush? "Well…then we should have no issues leaving," I say, following my own practical advice of 'when in doubt, state the obvious.'

I think I see him blush when he realizes what he just did with my hair, and he clears his throat, excusing himself with a small nod and quickly making his way to the door. "Be ready to leave by dawn," he states, reverting back to the serious leader I had first met the day before, leaving me to my thoughts. I take a seat once more by the fire, watching the door shut firmly, yet quietly, behind him. He wouldn't have need to tell me twice.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning comes far too fast for my taste; at first, it's as though my world hasn't collided with a Doctor Who episode set seven hundred years in my past. The sounds of people bustling about and conversing with one another all seem somehow familiar; however, it's the clashing of swords and grunts that come from outside my window that finally snap me out of my sleepy stupor. Getting up to take a look, I see it is coming from the soldiers training near the courtyard. Marcello and his cousin (Captain of the guard and perfector of the puppy dog eyes, Luca Forelli) stand before them, watching and analyzing their movements.

A knock sounds at the door just as it opens, a young woman entering with a dress and some pins for my hair. "Good morning, Milady," she says courteously. "Lord Forelli insists upon your accepting this dress as a token of goodwill. Lord Greco has already approached him about your departure; I pray you find your sister in good health."

"As do I," I reply, letting her help me into the dress and tend to my crazy bed-head. Maybe I should be initiating more conversation…if Olan Rogers had been born yet, he would probably describe the silence as being "so quiet, you could hear a fly fart." I just don't want to risk saying something incriminating…not unless it's with Rodolfo, and him alone. "What's your name?" I ask, finally cracking under the silence. Lia can attest to the fact that I struggle with keeping my mouth shut in most circumstances.

She pulls and tugs at my dark, curly locks in an attempt to subdue them. "Giacinta, Milady," she replies softly, soon stepping back to admire what she's done; she seems quite pleased with the outcome. "There we are; fit for a queen."

I raise my eyebrow, looking down to admire the gown; it is gorgeous, I'll give it that. "Well, thank you, Giacinta. I appreciate your help."

She chuckles faintly, curtsying politely. "I shall alert Lord Greco that you are awake and dressed. Breakfast will be up within the hour." I nod in reply, thanking her once more as she excuses herself from the room. I stay in the room long enough to put on some comfortable shoes before heading out to explore the Castello, ignoring the curious gazes I attract as I go. Rather quickly, I find myself in the courtyard, relishing the warmth of sunlight; oh, glorious sunshine! For a moment, I can close my eyes and imagine I'm still at home with my mother and sister, and the world is an easy place to navigate. The moment ends sooner than I'd like, though, as the reality of my circumstances crushes the small amount of peace that had started to build.

I wander into what must be the armory, glancing around at the multitude of weapons, and carefully pick up a sword that catches my eye. It's like the one I have hanging on my wall at home, and I test it out on a wooden dummy in the back of the room. Each blow lands exactly where it's supposed to, leaving fresh wooden scars all over its wooden frame; the sword is perfect.  
"Ahem," a throat clears behind me, startling the Reese's Pieces right out of me. I fumble for a moment, but manage not to drop my sword. Ha…_my sword. _As if I have any claim to it.

Marcello Forelli stands in the doorway in all his macho-nacho hotness, arms crossed though seemingly amused. "Do not tell me they teach ladies how to spar in Normandy as well, Lady Gabriella," he says, voice light and teasing. "The more I learn of you, the stranger your land becomes in my eyes."

Heavily blushing and feeling a little impish at having been caught, I grin in return and shrug. "It was something my father and I used to do together before he died," I admit softly. "Forgive me; is this an intrusion?"

He strides over to pick up one of the other swords, raising an eyebrow. "Intrusion? Nay; this is a privilege," he replies, twirling the blade in his strong hands. "Perhaps, if your honor would not be wounded by my asking, we could put your skills to the test?"

Finally, some fun! I stretch my back with a teasing grin. "You have only to name the time and place," I reply, my sense of elation dying down the moment we are interrupted by his betrothed, Ramona, or Romana, whichever it is. I having nothing but disdain for her snotty attitude and pity for Marcello; he could do so much better.

"There you are, Beloved; Luca said I might find you here. Has your blade become dull yet again?" she asks, and I see her batting her eyelashes at him. Ugh; where's a Cone of Shame when you need one? "At least I finally have an idea of what to get you for your birthday." She looks at me, sizing me up one minute and trying to dismiss me the next. She wraps her arm around his waist in a silent, unmistakable message. "Lady Gabriella, Lord Greco is looking for you everywhere; I feel he is eager to be off as soon as you've broken your fast this morning."

Yeah, yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Princess? A real smile comes to my lips, though, at the thought of Lord Greco. "I suppose I should go to him, then," I reply, about to put the weapon back on the shelf when Marcello steps forward to grab its matching sheath. "Keep it," he says with a smile. "As yet another token of goodwill. I know the territory you shall be going into; I believe you'll have need of it." He carefully fits the blade into its sheath and buckles it around my waist so that it's snug, but not too tight.

"Thank you; you've been very kind to me," I reply honestly; I can feel the blood rushing to my face once more, and I don't even dare glance at Romana. Is it possible to feel a stare? I think if looks could kill, the one she is giving me now would probably be excruciatingly painful; my head would no longer be attached to my body.

Marcello looks down at me with eyes that seem to envelop my soul. Darn all these hot Italian knights! "It's been our pleasure to serve you," he says softly, taking my hand to kiss it. "You have our prayers for finding your sister well, as well as our invitation to return should you ever find yourself in these lands again. You will be an honored guest at our table."

…And cue more blushing; maybe being stuck here isn't so bad after all. Miss Snooty-Patootie decides this to be a good interrupting point, considering my hand still rested in his, and she comes over to take his free hand, clearing her throat. "Marcello, we should return to the men; your poor cousin is probably overwhelmed trying to keep them in line."

Her intention isn't wasted on him, and he carefully lets my hand go, though I detect a faint sigh. "Were you more acquainted with my cousin, Lady Romana, you would know that idea to be a complete impossibility," he says, trying to tease, though she doesn't seem to enjoy it. She simply snorts, turning away. "Farewell, Lady Gabriella, and safe travels," she replies. "Go with God."

I'd like to tell her where I think she can go, but I don't think it would be fitting for the circumstance. "Likewise," I reply instead, watching as she leads Marcello back towards the training grounds; I let out the breath I didn't realize I've been holding and walk back into the Castello to find Lord Greco.


End file.
